Up in the Air
by madelinedrive
Summary: Blaine Anderson is a business professional dedicating himself to his work to try and feel like he's doing something meaningful with his life. Kurt Hummel is a flight attendant doing anything to not feel grounded. 'Up in the Air' is inspired in part by the movie of the same name. A multi-chapter Klaine AU.


First Chapter of multi-fic 'Up In The Air'. Some aspects inspired by the movie of the same name. All other aspects are original ideas. Stay tuned for more. xx

* * *

Blaine Anderson celebrates his thirtieth birthday drinking alone at a bar in a terminal of the John F. Kennedy International Airport, if you can call that celebrating.

He wasn't going to bother to stop at the bar in the first place. He'd always been a good flyer and had consistently travelled by air almost every week for the past two and a half years without ever needing to sedate himself with alcohol or medications.

But when a voice declared throughout the massive wing that his flight was delayed yet another hour, it wasn't a need to intoxicate himself that caused Blaine to take a stool at the empty bar. It was the exhaustion. It was the frustration. It was the overwhelming wish that he could just crawl into a bed and sleep for the next twenty-four hours.

It was his birthday.

No one had called. His mother would probably send a card that would be a week or so late with both of his parents' names signed in her elegant handwriting. Cooper would call in a month, maybe, if Blaine was lucky. His best friend Sam, who he hadn't seen in six months, had sent him a nice text message earlier in the day with an attached picture of a dog wearing a party hat. He'd gotten an e-mail from his assistant at the office.

And that was it. That was the extent of people wishing him a happy birthday.

He didn't know why he had expected anything more, but he felt empty. He felt sick. He was thirty years old and only four or five people cared enough about his existence to wish him well on his birthday.

He tried not to think about it any more than he had to.

"What can I get you, handsome?" the bartender asked when he sat down. The woman was petite, an inch or so shorter than Blaine, and her blonde ponytail swished behind her. She seemed to bounce on her toes slightly, but she was probably just excited to have company in the otherwise barren little cantina.

Blaine smiled cordially at her, thankful for the compliment even if it was simply a polite greeting. "Just a beer, please," he replied as he set his computer bag on the stool next to him, his carry on standing up right next to his leg.

"Sure thing, sweetie," she chimed, staying in the same spot as she added, "Just need to see your ID."

At first, Blaine was sure she was joking. There was no way the woman actually thought he was underage. Sure, he had a good complexion and tried to maintain a youthful disposition, but he definitely looked older than twenty-one.

She seemed to note of his confusion and shrugged, adding, "Sorry, it's protocol. Boss makes me check everyone that orders."

Blaine hesitated, before sighing and pulling out his wallet. He picked out his driver's license and offered it over the bar. She took it in her small hands for a moment, scanning and starting to hand it back before quickly pulling it back in, her eyes rapidly darting over it again.

"Today's your birthday!" She exclaimed happily, her face lighting up. For the first time, Blaine actually looked at her face, her soft features and bright eyes. She couldn't be more than twenty-two at the oldest. He tried to remember where he had been when he turned twenty-two.

"That it is," he conceded, reaching over and gently taking the ID back from her small hands. He tucked it into his wallet next to his corporate credit card and a couple spare business cards, sighing thoughtfully as the questions started to pour from the girl.

"Well, where're you going?" She spoke as she grabbed a glass and filled it at the tap, asking, "Vacation to celebrate? Home to visit family? Or are you on your way home from home?" She leveled the drink and set it on the bar in front of Blaine, smiling sweetly as she, no doubt, awaited some nice story about him travelling to celebrate his birthday.

He hesitated for a moment, almost wondering if he should make up a lie so as not to damper her chipper spirits. But he didn't owe her anything and she wouldn't remember him in a couple of hours anyway. "None of the above, actually," he nodded, picking up the glass in a faux salute as he added, "I'm actually heading out on a business trip." Blaine watched out of the corner of his eye as he tipped the drink up. Her smile disappeared.

"On your birthday?"

Blaine smiled at the sad, uneasy tone of her question. It reminded him of the days when he used to be energetic and spirited about sentimental and nostalgic occasions like birthdays and holidays. "On my birthday," he repeated, before taking another long sip. He set the drink down and glanced over at the girl once more; her expression brought back the emptiness he had come to the bar to avoid.

Her eyes were forlorn and though she tried to smile up at him again, part of her had already seen the sadness in Blaine and now she couldn't wipe it away.

"Well, a happy birthday to you, anyway," she nodded sharply, as if she was trying to shake away that looming feeling that seemed to shroud them both.

"Thank you," he tried to smile back at her, but he'd never felt comfortable pretending to be happy for the benefit of someone else. Even less so when the other person was pretending to be happy too.

Clearing his throat, he pushed himself back from the bar, pulling out his wallet and leafing through the bills there as he came up with an excuse to leave.

Small hands wrapped around his and he glanced up only to be greeted with those same sad eyes. "The beer's on me," she nodded assuredly, her lips turning up slightly as she added, "Happy birthday."

* * *

A little over an hour later, Blaine finally began boarding the plane that would take him to Los Angeles. Most of his fellow passengers seemed agitated that it had taken so long to finally get on the plane, but Blaine was just relieved to be out of the airport. At least on the plane there was no lingering sense that a young bartender was just a couple hundred yards away taking pity on him because he was alone and sad on his birthday.

Blaine had always liked planes. When he and his elder brother Cooper were children, the Anderson family often took trips all over the world. They'd been to Europe and Asia and throughout the Americas. They travelled as much as possible until Cooper left home to become an actor, a career choice that their father had strongly disapproved of. When Cooper left, so did whatever nameless, magical connection was keeping their family together.

When he got older and started to travel by plane once again, Blaine had initially felt bitter towards the nostalgia of it; now, though, planes were a great escape. Whenever he was on solid ground, he was either working or alone. On a plane, he could read or listen to music or draw or write or do anything and not feel overwhelmed by work or solitude. It was comforting for him.

"It looks like we're just about ready to close the cabin doors, if everyone could make sure their belongings are stored in the overhead compartments or underneath the seat in front of you, we'll be on our way to Los Angeles in no time," the cool voice of one of the flight attendants came over the speakers in the plane and Blaine found himself looking up eagerly, as if it would give him a clue to who had been speaking.

Maybe he was delirious from his lackluster birthday or delayed flight, but something about that voice was unlike anything he'd ever heard. He wanted that voice to speak more; he wanted to hear that voice go on about anything and everything. He could listen to that voice read the dictionary with a smile on his face and his heart fluttering.

But the voice didn't return as he tried to subtly look about the first class cabin. He wasn't close enough to the front of their section to see where the flight attendant making the announcement would be standing, and he didn't want to draw suspicion by leaning into the aisle to try and locate the owner of the voice.

So he sat contently in his seat, looking up at the speaker in hopes that it would speak for him again.

Like some divine intervention had read his thoughts, the speakers crackled to life again and Blaine's eyes widened, listening intently as that same voice assured the passengers that they were, in fact, closing the cabin doors and would be taking off soon.

"On behalf of your pilots on board tonight, Captain Finn Hudson and Noah Puckerman, as well as the rest of the flight crew helping you about the cabin at this moment, Santana, Mercedes, and Tina; my name is Kurt Hummel, and we'd like to thank you for choosing New Directions Airline, always taking _you_ in a new direction."

Kurt Hummel. The voice had a name and it was Kurt Hummel.

Blaine had never wanted to meet a stranger more than he wanted to meet Kurt Hummel.

It didn't occur to him until after he had stared contently at the speaker throughout the following safety presentation that there wasn't really any way to approach a flight attendant on a plane without seeming slightly bizarre. Especially if his only basis for doing so would be to compliment said flight attendant on his lovely speaking voice. It didn't seem like the best first impression to make.

And just thinking about his own reservations made him sad. Ten years ago, his bright-eyed and excitable twenty-year-old self would have had no problem approaching a stranger to pay them a compliment. In fact, he'd probably go out of his way to do so.

Why should that change now, just because he was a little bit older? What was stopping him? His pride? Please.

The plane had gradually picked up speed as it made its way down the runway, a low roar filling the cabin as they barreled down the tarmac and started to lift off the ground. The aircraft climbed a few feet at a time before rocketing up and out over the Atlantic Ocean.

The plane continued to ascend as Blaine tried to think of how he should go about this whole 'complimenting' business. But the more he thought about it, his eyes now fixed on the world shrinking below them, the more he realized he couldn't think about it. Ten years ago he wouldn't have thought about anything, he would've just done it.

There was a soft ding above his head and he looked up to see the small light signaling a flight attendant had turned on above him, as if he was a cartoon character who had come up with a brilliant idea.

He looked at his armrest to see his own finger pressing the call button.

He swallowed hard.

And before he could even process what his body had done without his mind's consent, the faint shuffle of heels on cheap carpet were approaching him. He yanked his finger back from the button, his eyes and hands nervously settling on his lap. When he was twenty, he didn't get nervous.

"Can I help you, sir?" A cloud of citrusy perfume accompanied the words as Blaine looked up to find himself face to face with a woman's ample cleavage. His eyes immediately shot upwards to the woman's face.

Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, the curls of it falling over her right shoulder. Just across her body was a white nametag that read 'Santana' in red script. It was pinned to a form fitted red dress accented by a red, white, and black scarf tied nearly at her neck. Though the way she was leaning toward him was suggestive, her smile was not. It was almost as if she had taken one look at him and already knew everything she might need to know.

"Sir?" she asked again, eyebrow quirking up as she pressed the button on the arm of his chair. The small light above his head went out.

Blaine cleared his throat, feeling a bit flustered that he'd already found himself in a compromising situation in this poorly thought out plan. But he was too far gone to back out now.

"Actually," he smiled back at her, licking his bottom lip habitually before informing her politely, "I was hoping I could speak to Kurt. Kurt Hummel."

Her smile didn't change, but something in her eyes did. If Blaine wasn't mistaken, the woman was almost amused by his request. She was laughing at him without making a sound.

"Of course," she spoke smoothly, standing up and smoothing down her dress before heading back towards the front of the plane.

Blaine had never felt more unsure of himself in his life.

He leaned into the aisle to watch Santana walk away but she was already at the front of the plane, talking to someone that was just out of sight. Blaine bit his lip, his heart rate accelerating. It was no longer just nerves; he was excited too.

His excitement only continued to grow when Santana took a step back from where she was standing to let someone pass by her. That someone could have been anyone, really, but he _knew_ it was Kurt.

As the man stood up straight, apparently exchanging a few more words with Santana, Blaine's eyes widened. He was tall and slim, that much was apparent. Blaine's eyes raked down the back of his body, his white collared shirt covered mostly by a red waistcoat the same color as Santana's dress. His pants were black and almost as well fitted as Santana's dress. Blaine tried not to linger.

It was easier for Blaine to tear his eyes away from the man's long legs when he was suddenly turning around, facing Blaine's direction. His eyes travelled back up Kurt's body so quickly, he couldn't breath for a second. Or maybe it was the piercing blue eyes staring back at him that took his breath away.

And who could blame him? They were breathtaking in every sense of the word. In the few moments that Blaine could do nothing but stare helplessly, he had completely forgotten his motivation, the compliments, Kurt's voice, everything. It was like he had lost his ability to process anything except how beautiful the man was that was approaching him.

That was until the voice was back, now much closer and clearer than it had been when it was projected through the speaker. Blaine felt a huge, stupid grin pull over his face and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"Can I help you, sir?"

And there Kurt was, standing in the aisle next to his seat and smiling politely. If Blaine had the capacity to try and analyze the emotions in Kurt's eyes, he might've seen the slight confusion and reservation there.

"Hi," he breathed out, an airy laugh leaving his lips immediately afterwards. The way he greeted the man sounded like a high school student passing their crush in the hallway. It was ridiculous but he couldn't stop himself if he tried.

Kurt hesitated for a moment, venturing to return the greeting with a wavering, "Hello? Do you need something, sir?"

"Blaine," is the next thing that leaves Blaine's mouth, which only stands to make him feel even more like an idiot. Quickly, shaking his head, he recovered enough to finally speak more than one word at a time, "My name's Blaine."

For a third time, Kurt repeated the same words, asking, "Can I help you, Blaine?"

Blaine wanted to smile and swoon over the way Kurt spoke his name, but he could tell by the way Kurt was looking at him that the attendant was growing more and more agitated. Even if he was trying to mask it behind his signature customer service smile.

_So get to the point_, he reprimanded himself. He didn't want to distance Kurt anymore than he already had.

"I just wanted to tell you that you have an amazing speaking voice," he said quickly, not even stopping for a breath before blurting out, "And your eyes are just _incredible_."

Staring up into those incredible eyes, Blaine saw something change again; the irritation that had been slowly building disappeared altogether and was replaced by what seemed to be anger or frustration. For a brief moment, Blaine was almost compelled to apologize. Before he could, though, Kurt was leaning down. He was eye level with Blaine before he spoke, and though he still had that sweet smile on his face, his voice was anything but.

"Look, _sir_," he spat in a low whisper so that only Blaine could hear, "this is not the gay Penthouse forum. If you think you're going to say a few nice things to me and then I'll let you 'get your pass to the Mile High Club', not only are you disgusting, but you're walking yourself right into a sexual harassment lawsuit, got it?"

Blaine had no idea what was happening as Kurt spoke, but at the words "Penthouse forum" and "Mile High Club", his cheeks flushed dangerously red. He could feel the burn of embarrassment marking his face and looking up into Kurt's eyes, he could see how sincerely Kurt felt about what he was saying. Which meant this had happened to him more than once.

"No no no no," Blaine whispered back in a small hush, shaking his head and looking around nervously as he murmured up at him, "I just wanted to pay you a compliment. I didn't mean to insinuate that you should…or that I wanted…oh my God, I'm so sorry."

For a moment, Kurt almost seemed to consider his apologies. But any flash of empathy in his eyes was gone, and he was back to staring coldly at him within a matter of seconds.

"I'm sure," he spoke flatly, licking his lips before straightening up, running a hand over his the red fabric of his waistcoat to smooth it out. When he looked back at Blaine, his eyes had returned to the same faux enthusiasm as before, smiling warmly at Blaine saying, "If you need anything else, please don't hesitate to ask one of the _other_ flight attendants."

Blaine felt a pang of guilt and another wave of embarrassment as he opened his mouth to apologize once more, only to gape uselessly up at the other man. With a terse nod, Kurt turned away, making his way back up the aisle to the front of the plane.

Blaine let his head drop to his hands, cursing himself for the remaining five hours of the flight.

* * *

They had to land at some point, Blaine knew, but as they made a wide turn over the Pacific Ocean to approach Los Angeles, he felt like he needed to do something to convey how sorry he was to Kurt. Throughout the flight, he had tried to think of something he could do or say to leave a better impression on the man, but all he'd done was make awkward eye contact and swallow his own words.

In return, Kurt seemed to be acting as professional as he could towards Blaine, but there was still an edge, some sort of reservation meant for Blaine.

It made Blaine feel impossibly guilty and regretful.

It also made him want to redeem himself even more. Blaine hated to think that anyone thought negatively of him and wanted Kurt to know that his intentions were truly good.

The plane roared again as it began to plummet back towards the earth. Blaine's fingers instinctively dug into the armrest, his eyes closing as he exhaled deeply. They hurdled downwards, the plane lurching slightly as they hit the ground.

As the plane raced along the runway, slowing to attempt a somewhat fluid stop, Blaine realized time was slipping through his fingers.

There wasn't much he could do to fix this meeting, and really there was no reason to. It wasn't like they were colleagues or neighbors that would constantly have to face each other; this would probably be the only time he ever saw Kurt. There was no reason to be upset about a chance encounter that wouldn't ever happen again.

Even if he wished this wouldn't be the last time.

With no real rhyme or reason, he pulled out his wallet, dancing his fingers over a few cards before pulling out one of his business cards. The plane was now rolling comfortably on its way to the gate as he looked over the little rectangle in his fingers.

The front was off white with his initials printed in large, gold letters. He rolled his eyes in spite of himself, flipping it over and reading the few lines that were scrawled in neat maroon ink.

_Blaine Devon Anderson_

_Corporate Event Manager, Vice President of Affairs - North America, Superior Events_

_Los Angeles · Chicago · New York_

Underneath, his cell phone number was typed neatly in the same gold type as the front. He used to be proud of the accomplishment the card embodied, but as he fiddled with the slip of paper between his fingers, he just felt pretentious.

But it was a last ditch effort for a reason. This was the last weapon in his meager arsenal and if it wouldn't work, then he had to accept the fact and move on. There were probably better things to worry about than whether or not the attractive flight attendant thought well of him.

Before he knew it, there was a soft ding in the cabin and everyone was jumping out of their seats. In his haze of studying his business card, the plane had taxied at the gate and was now ready to be deboarded. Everyone around him was grabbing their things and trying to get off the plane as soon as possible, hurrying on to their next meeting or destination. Blaine supposed he should do the same.

He gathered his laptop bag from underneath the seat in front of him then moved into the aisle amongst the other passengers trying to retrieve their carry ons. His business card was still perched between two fingers as he located his small suitcase, pulling it out of the overhead bin and heading towards the front of the plane.

His heart rate quickened with every step forward and he couldn't remember the last time his had been absolutely dizzy with anticipation.

It was kind of nice.

A few more steps and he was at the front of the plane. Kurt was standing next to a tall man, one of the pilots if his uniform and hat were any indication; they were wishing passengers a nice evening as they exited the plane, then turning and talking to each other.

Blaine almost surrendered his plan entirely, his head and heart suddenly aching to the point he thought he might be ill.

Then he was there, eye-to-eye with the most captivating blue eyes he'd ever seen. It was strange to feel starstruck by someone who was just as normal as any other person he already had or would encounter today.

"Sorry," he muttered again as he gracelessly stuck his hand forward, getting too close to Kurt before realizing it and pulling back a little. His voice was anxious as he tried his best to smile.

"I know you probably think I'm an idiot still, but if you're ever in New York and want a cup of coffee on me, I'd like to try and make it up to you." The more he spoke, the wider his smile got and the less put together he sounded. He chanced a glance at the pilot, who seemed thoroughly amused by Blaine, and his heart hurt a little.

The business card disappeared from his hands. In a flurry, it was tucked away in the pocket of Kurt's waistcoat and the man was staring at him icily. His professional smile was cold as he whispered, "Thank you, sir, have a good evening and thank you for flying New Directions."

Blaine's heart sunk a little, but he gave the man a curt smile and nod. He looked up to do the same to the pilot, who was grinning cheekily. He mouthed something along the lines of "he'll call you" as Blaine stepped passed him.

His heart felt a little better as he stepped into Los Angeles International Airport, wondering if maybe this wouldn't be a one time encounter after all.


End file.
